Wednesday Night
by Evil Asian Genius
Summary: A chance encounter between Subaru and Seishirou one rainy night.


Summary: A chance encounter between Subaru and Seishirou one rainy night.

Wednesday Night

The clattering rhythm of the subway. Subaru makes himself as comfortable as possible while standing in the press of humanity, his hand clasped around a support pole as the train sways along, jerking past curves.

His mind comfortably settles along a few mundane items; the green coat of the man next to him, the dripping umbrella in his hand, the blink and flicker of light as they fly by along down the subway tunnel. The air smells musty-damp, and the noise of the train is punctuated by the murmur of conversation.

Subaru's on his way home.

*******

Stride forth, like a God. Seishirou saw this phrase once somewhere in a book, a translation from an ancient Egyptian text. Thousands of years, thousands of miles – the distance is long, yet the feeling is true.

Seishirou makes his way through the crowd, a fine mist of rain leaving tiny droplets of water in his hair, on his coat, beading on his sunglasses. Night's veil falls over Tokyo. Throughout the city, lights begin blinking into existence, reflecting against the dark rain clouds above as if creating a ceiling out of the fog above the city.

Seishirou is a predator in a sea of victims, a hidden thorn in the heart of humanity. He smiles, looking up into the endless rain.

Seishirou's on his way home.

*******

"Tadaima." Subaru says it to no one in particular. The dark apartment is just as bare as he left it before, save for a carelessly discarded shirt on a chair in the living room. It's the only hint of disturbance in an otherwise orderly apartment. Subaru leaves it, because he just doesn't care.

It crosses his mind that he should have some dinner. A can of juice. Something. But the thought fades as quickly as it came. It doesn't interest him.

Subaru takes off his shoes and carefully sets them in their rightful place. He hangs up his coat in the closet and his umbrella on the worn wooden hook, moving automatically through the motions.

The familiar rituals keep him linked to the world. The constant press of the same line of thoughts keeps him chained to his past. Hokuto. Seishirou.

Inside, he's rain.

Subaru turns on the light.

*******

Seishirou runs his fingers through his rain-slicked hair. Droplets congeal, matting the black strands. He pulls off his shoes and hangs his coat up to dry. With an artful flick of his fingers he turns the light on, illuminating his apartment. Tidy, clean, with sleek modern lines. It's perfectly controlled, just the way he likes it.

He lets his mind wander a bit, wondering what he should have for dinner. Perhaps he'll make some pasta, nothing more fancy than some fresh tomatoes and herbs, a splash of olive oil. Something he learnt once, from someone he knew.

But first, he'll take a shower. Seishirou makes his way toward his bedroom, pulling off his damp clothes.

Inside, he's light.

Seishirou turns on the shower.

*******

Subaru stares at a book.

He's not really reading it. It's just open. The pages are dry and crisp beneath his fingertips. Words fly along down the page, a rushing torrent of text, but he's merely a leaf floating at the surface.

Subaru's not paying attention anymore.

*******

Seishirou makes his dinner, a towel draped around his shoulders. His hair doesn't drip. He slices tomatoes with loving gentleness and a sharp knife, careful not to burst their ripe skins. Precision. It appeals to him.

When he's done, he slides the crimson tomatoes, their liquid insides threatening to spill, into a bowl. Now he'll chop basil. The knife seeks the leaves, severing them off from their stems without hesitation.

Seishirou's very thorough.

*******

Subaru sets the book down. It would make sense to do some work. After all, it's Wednesday night.

He stands up and silently makes his way into his office, turning lights on where necessary, off where appropriate. Waste is not in his nature. He kneels down at the low writing table and clicks on the little halogen light, beginning his weekly ritual. It illuminates the surface in a splash of brightness. Subaru finds his writing tools, and begins grinding his inkstick against the rectangular black inkstone. He adds water from a little bottle and wets the tip of his brush in his mouth. It tastes gray, like the scent of the ink.

He retrieves a pile of white paper from another drawer. They were made in this size. The coarse grain of the handmade paper feels comfortable against his hand, a familiar trace that soothes him. He doesn't remember a time before this paper.

Carefully he dips his brush into the dip of the well of the inkstone.

It's magic, the creation of ofuda. 

His hand flows along the familiar words like grass moving with the breath of the wind. 

*******

Seishirou finishes washing the dishes after he's eaten. It makes no sense to leave a mess.

After he's done, he dries his hands off carefully. The towel long-discarded, his hair is already almost dry. He walks into his office, humming contentedly under his breath, a tuneless murmur. It's time for the week's work.

He sits down at his desk. His inkstone and brush are already set out. So are the shears. He unlocks a drawer, and retrieves the black paper. The heavy sheets are smooth to the touch. He begins cutting them into the proper size, slicing each sheet into thirds with his strong shears. Each sheet is precisely the same size; each cut is exact. He doesn't require a ruler or measure. The size is already predetermined in his soul.

When he feels as though he's made enough, Seishirou piles the paper into one neatly ordered stack. He unlocks another compartment, this one hidden within the locked drawer, and pulls out his inkstick. It's a worn block of crimson.

He grinds his ink with measured movements of his hand, without any wasted effort, before he adds the water.

Seishirou wets the tip of the brush against the tip his tongue. He sets the brush into the ink, and the crimson leeches into the pale bristles like the pooling of blood on white tile.

Seishirou touches the tip against the first of the papers, ready to write his ofuda.

His hand moves like the chisel of a sculptor, cleanly laying down the first lines of the star.

Later, he'll grind black ink. This is merely the visible element.

*******

Subaru sits in his living room. The ofuda are done, he won't have to return to this task until next week. There's no dinner to make, because there's nothing in the refrigerator, save a few bottles of water, and there's nothing he wants to do. The thought of turning on the blank screen of his television fills him with revulsion.

The last thing he wants to do is to be reminded that the world moves on.

Nothing makes him happy anymore. The best he seems to be able to manage is interest, but even most of that is feigned.

He's tired, but restless.

Subaru stands up after a moment of hesitation, and makes his way to the front door. He pulls on his coat and shoes, and picks up his umbrella.

Subaru goes outside.

*******

Seishirou remembers that there was something he wanted to see on television, but it's already over. It's a show about modern Cuba, with its brilliant colors and exotic language. He loves this series on travel in foreign lands, because they're glimpses into places that he will never be allowed to visit. Someday, he would like to touch the scaly bark of a date palm himself, and feel the hot desert wind ruffle his hair, or dip his toes into a sea that's warmer than human blood. It won't happen though, and it never will.

Time is running out.

Seishirou thinks that instead, he'll go and buy some cigarettes. He was going to wait until morning, but decides that now is as good of a time as ever.

Seishirou makes sure to bring an umbrella with him on the way out.

*******

It's still early in the evening, perhaps only eight or nine.

Subaru meanders through the thinning crowds, his eyes dazzled by the brilliance of the signs beyond the falling rain. His shoes are getting wet.

His white umbrella stands out in a sea of black. It isn't his intention. Someone bought it for him a long time ago, because of his coat. It never crossed his mind to buy a different one.

He stares at his dampening shoes. Perhaps it was a bad idea to go for a walk. Especially since he hasn't been paying attention and isn't sure where he is anymore. 

Subaru stands off to the side of the moving crowd, underneath an awning, the umbrella still open. Heavy drips of water coming off the building slap against the white fabric of the umbrella above him. He's trying to remember exactly where he had been walking in the past half hour.

*******

Seishirou's shoes click crisply against the wet pavement because he wants them to. These are his favorite kind of shoes, because they require extra effort to mask their sound.

The world is particularly dark to him from behind his sunglasses, but it matters little. His other senses can easily compensate for the lack of light.

His black umbrella mingles into the crowd, easily disguised, yet another passerby in a long coat to ease the autumn chill. The nearest store is a few blocks away.

A glimpse of white through the crowd. Seishirou's interest piques. 

He remembers exactly how long it's been since he last saw Subaru.

*******

The white umbrella bobs in his hand as Subaru checks his pocket for change to take the subway home. Subaru's realized where he is now; a little neighborhood that he often passes on the way home when he's on the trains. He's been here once before, several years ago on assignment. Otherwise it's just another anonymous neighborhood in Tokyo. He moves his umbrella into his other hand so he can check his other pocket.

Subaru looks up in surprise as a strong hand closes around his wrist. The umbrella quivers under his hand.

"Good evening, Subaru-kun." A familiar voice, a familiar face. Seishirou smiles from beneath his black umbrella, a shadow within a shade. There are a few tiny beads of water on his sunglasses that glimmer in the reflected light.

For a moment, Subaru doesn't know what to do. He blinks in surprise, but he quickly recovers.

"Let me go." Subaru snatches his hand away.

Seishirou continues to smile, as if Subaru had done nothing out of the ordinary, as if this is only a chance meeting between friends on a rainy autumn night. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Subaru-kun. But isn't it getting late for you to be out? Unless you're working…"

"Excuse me." Subaru's voice is cold, as he moves to get away. There are too many people here, too many innocent lives that could be hurt. For a moment, Subaru considers forming a kekkai, but it doesn't seem as though Seishirou is looking to threaten him tonight.

Subaru just wants to go home.

"Please, what's the rush?" Seishirou neatly sidesteps Subaru, blocking his retreat. "We hardly see each other anymore."

It's infuriating. Subaru's angry to the point of speechlessness. He opens his mouth to speak, but shuts it before he can get anything out.

"May I buy you a cup of tea?" Seishirou continues blithely. "There's a lovely little shop just around the corner that serves it in the European style. We must catch up."

"N…" But before Subaru can get the words out, Seishirou's got an iron grip on his elbow, and is steering him along toward their destination.

Subaru's fighting an increasingly growing wave of anxiety.

It's mixed with something else though.

*******

Seishirou's ordering. Hot tea and, to Subaru's look of surprise, sandwiches and pastries. 

Subaru's been coaxed into sitting down, and he's amazingly well behaved given the circumstance. Perhaps, Seishirou thinks, he's having a bad day, as in previous encounters Subaru wouldn't have hesitated to try (futilely, it's true) to kill him. Seishirou's mind wanders to the faint scar on his cheek.

Seishirou thinks Subaru looks tired. Subaru thinks Seishirou looks arrogant.

It's a start.

"Subaru, you're looking far too pale. Have you been eating properly?" Seishirou pours from the pot into two delicate ceramic cups, with arched handles and slightly frilled rims. The cups are white and patterned with frail blue flowers.

"Mm." Subaru makes a non-committal noise, as he sips at the hot tea. It's different, with a strong hint of citrus, nothing like the Japanese tea he's used to. He's not sure whether he likes it or not.

"It's far better with milk and sugar," Seishirou says. "You should try it that way."

"No thank you." Subaru continues drinking his tea.

Seishirou shrugs and measures out the milk and sugar. 

"Have you been sleeping well? You look tired."

"Mm." Subaru continues staring at his tea. It's a perfect amber brown. It reminds him of Seishirou's eyes. Irritated, he looks elsewhere.

The waiter returns with the food, and sets it down. Plates of delicate sandwiches with their crusts neatly trimmed off, little glazed fruit tarts that gleam in the light, and tiny squares of chocolate cake, fancifully frosted and marked.

"This place serves perhaps the best fruit tarts I've ever had," Seishirou says, as he begins serving both Subaru and himself. "Please try these sandwiches, they're quite very good."

Subaru notices that Seishirou takes only a single fruit tart, and is piling Subaru's plate with food.

"I'm all right."

"All right?" Seishirou studies Subaru. "Subaru-kun, you're like a fragile and delicate orchid."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Subaru glares.

"You seem to subsist wholly through extracting nutrients from the air. Now eat." Seishirou emphasizes the point with a wave of his fork.

Seishirou knows Subaru hasn't had dinner. He watches Subaru eat slowly with an outward expression of gentle fondness not unlike the kind of interested amusement one receives while feeding a stray.

He's thinking of something else though.

*******

The time passes in silence. 

The tea is drunk, the food, eaten. Bills are settled, but not the one that's most important. That, unfortunately, must wait for another day.

Subaru politely takes his leave. Seishirou lets him go, just this time. 

Just this time.

*******

"Tadaima." It's the second time today. Subaru takes off his shoes, hangs up his coat and umbrella, and makes his way into his bedroom. He takes off his wet socks and hangs them up on the back of a chair to dry. His feet are cold.

Subaru sneezes. 

*******

Seishirou flicks the light switch on as he walks in, hanging up his coat and umbrella, wiping his wet shoes off before he leaves them in the entry. He walks into his bedroom. He doesn't bother turning on the light.

Seishirou pushes back the heavy drapes and looks out the window. Outside, high above the city, rain falls steadily, obscuring the blink of the city lights.

He taps out a cigarette and lights it.

Seishirou exhales.

*******

Subaru remembers a time before everything went wrong. He's opened his window. Wind-whipped rain lashes at his face, but he doesn't care. The cold seems to ground him, a distracting pain against that in his heart.

Eventually, the moment passes. He closes his window like a reasonable person would do, latching it firmly. He suppresses a shiver, and makes his way toward his bed. Wet, cold, and miserable, he lies face down against the yielding mattress. It's soft.

Subaru's eyes close, but he's not asleep.

*******

Seishirou remembers Subaru's eyes. Subaru doesn't know this, but his eyes reveal moment after moment of pain. It's beginning to etch into his face.

Seishirou amuses himself with the thought that he'll kill Subaru before that pain writes itself permanently, scrimshaw in an aging face. Subaru will be beautiful, always, if Seishirou has his way.

He presses his hand against the glass for one last time tonight. The cigarette is long burned out, and he closes the drapes behind him.

He undresses, and goes to bed. 

Seishirou's eyes close, but he's not asleep.

In his mind, there's a green-eyed boy waiting for him. He's in pain. 

Seishirou's just not sure what to do anymore.

*******

Disclaimer: X 1999 and Tokyo Babylon belong to CLAMP.

Thanks: Thanks to RubyD for her inspiration (see below), because if she hadn't asked about it, I probably wouldn't have had enough ideas to actually write it. Thanks to Cyrus for pre-reading.

Author's notes: The fic follows the shape of an X, where they begin in a parallel point, cross in the center, and move out again.  Surprisingly, this was originally supposed to be a humor fic. Not sure where I went wrong. Continuity is sometime after Nakano Sun Plaza (volume 8 in the manga). When I was little, we studied calligraphy as part of our Chinese language classes, but I was never very good at it, nor did I study it very well. There's a style that's called 'grass style' and it's written with graceful squiggles (for lack of a better way to put it). My father doesn't like it because he likes the more orderly characters that in his mind look as perfect as the kind you find chiseled into stone, but it's what Subaru's ofuda reminds me of.    
"Striding like a God" was a phrase my Middle Egyptian (hieroglyphic language) teacher used to explain some point of grammar. I don't remember the grammatical point or the exact phrasing, much less where it comes from.

Thank you very much for reading! C&C can be sent to cori_ohki@hotmail.com Rainkitty: www.squidkitty.org/eag


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